Dover and its inhabiting c***s are an overlooked hotbed of scally-ism and general gutter filth.
Dover is my home town. Dover used to be a hub of industry, thriving ferry and hover ports, the local paper mill supplied jobs for thousands. The mill shut down and the ferry and hover ports have suffered because of the channel tunnel.
In the wake of mass unemployment and a lack of finances making their way to the town an explosion, no…an infestation of chavish pests has taken over the town.
The reason that i feel that attention must be drawn to Dover and its scally-types, is that the Dover C**v is a very different and far more worrying prospect than its inland counterparts.
The Dover c**v does not respect the normal rules of sticking to recognised territories; the train station, McDonalds, KFC/Euro Chicken(don’t ask), the Spar and the fountain in the centre of town. The Dover c**v also sets up lynch mobs in the quietter villages around Dover outside the small newsagents and bowling greens.
Most frightening of all is the age of the Dover c**v. Manyauthors on the subject have noted that C***s do either grow out of the lifestyle or at least reduce the severity with which they adorn themselves with Burberry and NICKLESON and Nokia phones with Mario Winnans ring tones. But no. The Dover c**v seems to get worse, if anything, with age, slowly become deformed, white Mr.Ts, dripping with Elizabeth Duke’s finest. Even more worrying than this is the fact that some of these ‘middle-aged’ c***s become so over night – having spent some thirty years tracksuit-less they suddenly become the spit (although a little wrinklier) of Brian Harvey.
More info will undoubtedly follow on my experiences of the Dover c**v.
Be careful! The Dover c**v never stops, never yields from its towny lifestyle. Be aware!